Join Us: A SupernaturalEvil Dead Crossover
by Misha'sMistress69
Summary: I just wanted to give the Winchester Bro's a hunt like they've never had before and a new and unlikely ally to team up with,


*I do **NOT** own Supernatural or Evil Dead. These two brilliant works of entertainment are the brain children of Eric Kripke and Sam Raimi. I hope you enjoy chapter one of my little story.

**_Join Us_**

A _Supernatural_/_Evil Dead_ Crossover

**Ch. 1: Shelter from the Rain**

The rain beat savagely against the exterior of the '67 Impala like thousands of tiny, angry fists. Dean Winchester's emerald eyes were intensely focused on the road ahead as he struggled to navigate the classic Chevy safely through the torrential downpour. "Christ," he growled, "I can't see a damn thing in this!" Castiel, who had remained silent for the majority of the uneasy ride, leaned forward from the back seat. "Then I suggest we find a safe location to pull over, Dean." Dean snorted. "Well gee, thanks Captain Obvious" he answered, voice oozing sarcasm. Sarcasm that sailed right over the angel's head. "You're welcome" he said stoically, and leaned back in his seat.

Sam Winchester stifled a small laugh. Dean momentarily tore his gaze from the road ahead to glare at his younger brother. "Remind me again why we brought Columbo along." Sam shrugged. "He wanted to learn how to hunt. And what do you mean 'we'? Bringing him was your idea. He's your little boyfriend, remember?"

"He is not my-!" Dean clamped his mouth shut when he realized that his brother was only trying to get his goat and he'd just played right into his hands. "Shut up, bitch." Sam smiled triumphantly. "Whatever, jerk. And don't take it out on Cas just because _you _botched that last hunt."

Dean grimaced. "How was that _my_ fault?" Sam let out one short, loud belly laugh. "You thought that by sleeping with the, admittedly gorgeous, leader of the vampire clan, she would lead you to their nest by bringing you back to it as her new sex toy. Is that what happened, Dean? Did she take you to her little love nest?" Dean didn't answer, he was too busy mentally kicking himself. So, Sam answered for him. "No, Dean, she didn't. Instead, you wake up handcuffed to the bed with your wallet and clothes stolen, and Cas and I have to fight off a hoard of angry vamps by ourselves."

"Let's just drop it, okay?!" Dean hollered. After a few moments of silence, he cleared his throat. "And, um, thanks. For, you know, bringing me a pair of undies." Sam sighed. "You're welcome. And that had better be the _only_ time I have to do that."

They rode in silence for a while at a slow, but safe, 30 miles per hour. But their situation grew dire as the rain began to fall harder. "Dean, I think Cas is right," Sam said, "You really should find somewhere to pull over until this rain slows down." Dean's knuckles blanched white as he gripped the steering wheel nervously. "Sammy, I can't even tell where 'over' is!"

Suddenly, Cas leaned forward again. "What is that?" he asked, extending his index finger straight ahead, pointing at something beyond the front windshield. Sam and Dean squinted through the misty rain. "I don't see squat" Dean growled. Castiel lowered his arm dejectedly. "I thought I saw a light."

Dean barked out a half-hysterical laugh. "Oh, great. Now he's seeing a light. It's official, we're dead. I ran us off of the road and killed us all. We're dead." Sam waved off Dean's rambling. "Wait a sec, Dean. I see it, too." Dean squinted hard and, lo and behold, he saw the light as well; a steady red flash winking at them from a distance. "Oh, Susana, there is a God!" Dean cheered. In the back seat, Castiel cocked his head to one side, genuinely puzzled. "Of course there is a God, Dean. Surely you've realized that by now?" Dean threw up a hand to silence the angel. "Not now, Cas. Not now."

As they drew closer, the gang saw that the crimson glow was radiating from the neon sign of a tavern; a small, hole in the wall by the name of _Campbell's_. The very thought of a frosty pint made Dean grin from ear to ear. "Oh, it just keeps getting better."

Dean expertly steered the Chevy into the parking lot, came to a slow halt, and then killed the engine. Sam let out a slow breath that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "Well, we didn't die." Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder happily. "I'd say that's earned us a drink." He swiveled around in his seat to face Castiel. "Cas, the first round is on you." Then he climbed out of the Impala and into the pouring rain.

The angel was confused once again by Dean's words. "I don't understand, Sam. Why would Dean want to pour alcoholic beverages on me? Is this another human custom that I am not familiar with?" Sam shook his head. "No. He meant that…" he stopped himself mid-sentence, he just didn't have the energy to explain. "Forget it, Cas. It's not like you have any money anyway."

As Sam pulled his weary self out of the passenger's seat, Castiel vanished from the back seat and re-materialized outside in the downpour. Then the two proceeded to follow Dean into the bar.

Dean Winchester had never been so happy to set foot in a bar in his entire life. In his line of work, not getting killed was a momentous occasion; so sometimes a little celebratory drink was in order. Dean considered this one of those times.

Sam and Cas entered behind him and the three men took a minute to shake out their wet coats before sidling up to the counter. The bartender, who had been busy polishing an empty glass, looked up and smiled politely. The name on his tag read **SAL**. "Evenin', boys. What's your poison?"

"I'll take a pint of your finest Sam Adams, please" Dean replied, taking a seat at the bar. Sal nodded and turned his friendly grin on Sam. "How about you, stretch?" Sam shook his head. "I'll just have a glass of water, please." Sal shrugged and turned to Cas. "Nothing for me," said the angel. "I don't drink. Or eat. Or sleep. Or go to the bathroom." Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. "Okay, Cas, that's enough."

The bartender stared at Castiel with a look of, what could only be described as, utter confusion for a few seconds before going to fetch their drinks. Sam and Cas each pulled up a stool and took a seat at the counter on either side of Dean. The younger Winchester turned to the older and asked "So what's the plan?" Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "We've got to get out of this storm. There has to be a motel around here somewhere."

Sal returned with a mug of beer and a glass of water and set them down in front of their recipients respectively. Dean nodded his thanks, then hoisted the frosty pint to his lips and took a long pull of his beer. He savored the amber liquid as it glided down his throat and waited for it's numbing effect to kick in. Dean always felt the need for a beer, or a Xanax, after driving in shitty weather. Over the course of his life, he had faced countless ghoulies and ghosties and numerous other breeds of long-legged beasties, but nothing gave him a worse case of the jitters than the mere thought of crashing and demolishing the Impala, his beloved baby.

Sam had always felt somewhat in tune with his brother, and at the moment, he could still sense Dean's lingering anxiety. It was almost palpable. He knew how Dean felt about driving in such a monsoon, and, personally, he didn't like the idea of getting behind the wheel and doing it himself. So Sam waved the bartender back over. Who would know the way to the local motel better than one of the locals? Sal gave him another kind smile and said "Finally decided to order a real drink?"

"Uh, no. I was actually hoping that you could give me directions to the nearest motel. We're trying to find a place to get out of this storm for the night." Sal's friendly grin faded. "Sorry, fellas, I'm afraid you're all S.O.L. Nearest motel is miles away; you'd have better luck just sleeping in your car." Cas looked from the bartender to Sam, then said "I'll take the back seat." Sam took a swig of his water then put his head in his hands, totally bummed. "Well, it's not like we haven't done it before." Dean's jovial mood was now officially ruined. "Well, great. Just friggin' great. That's just peachy."

"Cas already called the back, so dibs on the front" Sam said before taking another sip of his water. Dean grumbled a few obscenities under his breath. "Okay, hold up a sec. If we're bunking in the car tonight, these are the sleeping arrangements: _I_ get the front seat and Sam, you can have the back. And Cas, because you drew the short straw, you can just chill out in the trunk." The straw expression soared over Castiel's head like a paper airplane. "I don't remember drawing any-"

"Well, I may know of one place you boys could hunker down", Sal interjected over Castiel's nonsense. "There's an old cabin up in the woods not far from here. It's been abandoned for quite some time and it's in pretty sorry shape, but it may stay standing long enough for the three of you to wait out the storm." Sam's spirits had just been substantially lifted. "That sounds perfect! How do we get to this cabin from here?" A loud _SLAM_ from across the bar made Sam, Dean, and Cas jump in unison.

"Don't you screwheads dare set one foot in that God forsaken cabin!" Dean whirled around to take a gander at the bar fly who had hammered his mug against the table and so rudely disrupted their conversation. He was an older gentleman, maybe in his mid to late fifties. He had a thick head of dark hair that had been salt and peppered with age. He was of intimidating size; not fat, but not fit either. Just…big. His most astonishing feature, however, was his right hand. The real one had been lost some time ago, Dean supposed, and in its place was the most unusual prosthetic that he had ever seen. It was a hook, or a claw, or even one of those fake mannequin-esque plastic hands. This thing looked more like some sort of medieval cast iron armored glove. Something about it was primal, fierce. And it unnerved Dean on a whole new level. Sal let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"God damn it, not this again." Dean swiveled back around to face the unhappy bartender. "Jeez, what in the hell is this joker's problem?" Sal shook his head in frustration. "He's some drunk nut job that shows up from out of state every year around this time, spreading his crazy around to the locals like a bad cold. Sal glared at the trouble maker, who glared defiantly right back.

"Now Ash," Sal began gently, attempting to be civil. "We've been through this time and time again. I can't have you comin' into my place of business and spoutin' all your nonsense about demons and evil and magic spells. It's not natural and you're scarin' people." Sal stepped out from behind the bar and crossed his arms over his chest. "Now you can either sit quietly and finish your drink, or you can leave." Demons and evil and spells? This conversation had officially captured Sam and Dean's attention.

The man named Ash stood up so fast that his chair flew backward and his mug toppled over, spilling the last of its contents onto the floor. "You expect me to just sit here with my thumb up my ass and let you send these stupid punks to their deaths?!" Dean rose from his bar stool and held his index finger up in Ash's direction, "Hold up a sec, slick", then he turned to Sal. "I'm sorry, did you say 'demons'?"

"Yeah, that's right" Sal answered without taking his eyes off of Ash. "The, *ahem*, 'incident' happened years ago. Ash and a few of his college buddies went up to the cabin for a weekend of drinkin' and screwin'. But the first night in, his pals caught a bad case of cabin fever and up killing each other, literally tore each other to pieces. Ash here was the only one who survived; the cops found him in the woods the morning after, covered in blood and half out of his mind. He told 'em that demons had done it."

By the time Sal had finished the grisly little story, Ash was seething. "I know what I saw," he ground out through his gritted teeth, "and what I saw was an evil beyond all comprehension. An evil that is ancient and powerful and deadly. A force that can't be stopped." Ash looked from between Sam, Dean, and Cas; his eyes were practically pleading. "Fellas please, if any one of you values your life, stay the hell away from that cabin."

Dean looked at Sam. The expression on his younger brother's face said 'it's your call'. Dean stared past his brother at Cas. The angel was actually smiling, thrilled by the thought of another case. "Sounds like our kind of thing. Right, Dean?"

With a decision made, Dean turned to face Ash once again. "If it's all the same to you, pops, we'll take our chances. The faint glimmer of hope in Ash's eyes flickered and went out. He stormed his way across the bar and right into Dean's personal space.

Dean inched backwards until he felt his back bump against the bar. He couldn't move any further, he was trapped with this behemoth of a man glaring down upon him. Ash pushed his face at Dean's until their noses were only mere inches apart. Now Dean didn't get intimidated easily, but, at the moment, this guy reminded him of a big, burly, high school quarterback of a bully, and Dean himself was the gangly, bespectacled president of the AV club.

"Fine," Ash spat, "but don't say that I didn't try to warn you." And with that final, dismal warning, Ash spun around and stomped out of the bar and into the rain.

Dean let out the breath he'd been holding and his whole body relaxed. "Well," he eked out, "that was slightly terrifying." He slumped back down onto his bar stool and waited for his jitters to subside. Something about that guy and his story had left a bad taste in Dean's mouth. It wasn't the fact that the man had sounded completely and utterly insane, it was more so the possibility that he wasn't. In the Winchester's line of work, if a random bar patron starts spouting tales of demons and evil cabins, you can't just write it off as insanity. At least not right off the bat.

But normal folks, those oblivious to the walking nightmares that lurked in the dark, could and would just see it as nothing more than the ramblings of a mad man; people like Sal, who just shook his head, muttered "freakin' wacko", and trudged back behind the bar.

"Well, do you think we're looking at another case, here?" Sam asked. Dean just shrugged. "Only one way to find out." Dean whistled for the bartender, who had already started cleaning another empty glass. "So Sal," Dean started, "How do we get to that cabin?"

The Cabin was a small, dilapidated, prehistoric looking little shack in the middle of scenic nowhere. The only thing scarier than the sight of the ramshackle hovel was the bridge that they'd had to cross to get there, which had been equally dilapidated and prehistoric looking.

The Winchester's and Cas stood huddled together in the rain eyeing the cabin, trying to sense any malicious intent emanating from its rotting wood, disintegrating shingles, and shattered windows. "Cas, are you picking up any bad vibes on angel radar?" Dean asked. Castiel shook his head. "Nothing. Perhaps that man was just insane."

Dean took a cautious step forward; when nothing jumped out at him, he took another, then another, then another until he had successfully climbed the aging front steps and was standing on the porch. He reached for the rusty door handle, but before he could even wrap his fingers around it, the door swung open on its own with a loud creak from its weathered hinges. Sam cleared his throat nervously. "Well, that didn't seem foreboding or anything." He realized as soon as he'd used the sarcasm that it had been a mistake. Because Cas decided to chime in. "I found it very foreboding."

"It was probably just the wind" Dean said, peering inside the darkened doorway. "Now, come on, are we gonna Scooby-Doo this place, or what?" Sam and Cas shot each other anxious glances, then reluctantly joined Dean on the front porch. Suddenly the idea of sleeping in the Impala didn't sound so bad.

"Well alrighty," Dean said with a grin, "Daphne, Velma, it's time to do what we do best." All three of them took a deep breath and then stepped inside.

_What Ash neglected to mention during his ominous rant was the cabin's cellar; the room where his nightmare began. The very room where the most deadly book ever written in human history was kept. But at this point, it no longer mattered. It didn't matter if they made that fateful descent into the cellar, or read from the book's gruesome pages. It didn't even matter if the entered the cabin at all. None of it mattered. The dark presence inhabiting the woods already knew they were there._

End of Ch. 1


End file.
